


only one thing left

by Marishna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, College Student Stiles, Come Shot, First Meetings, Knotting, Lapdance, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned Scott McCall, POV Stiles, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Strangers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishna/pseuds/Marishna
Summary: “Anyway, you’ve been requested.”Stiles blinked.  “Requested?  What does that mean?  For what?”“A dance,” Erica told him.  “Is it baby’s first time?”





	only one thing left

**Author's Note:**

> This... got out of hand. It was supposed to be a quick ficlet that turned into 3000+ words and the possibility of more to come even though I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT'S ABOUT. That's the unfortunate part of the ficlets I write when I get a scene from something potentially bigger, I have no idea where to take it next or what's supposed to happen. 
> 
> This is day 4 of Merry Month of Masturbation. 
> 
> Feel free to leave me VISUAL and/or SETTING prompts [here](http://marishna.livejournal.com/940617.html).

Grumpy was back.

Stiles was chatting with a customer at the end of the bar when he noticed Grumpy walk in. He nodded and pasted a fake smile on his face to the customer who was trying to impress Stiles with stories about a yacht and expensive champagne but he watched Grumpy out of the corner of his eye as he took near the other end of the bar, where it was darkest. 

“I’ll take you out on the water one of these days,” the customer, some guy named Ennis, said loudly, drawing Stiles’ attention back to him. 

“Hmm?” Stiles ducked his head a little to show he was listening but the customer either misinterpreted or, more likely, tried to take an opening where there wasn’t one and snaked his arm around Stiles’ waist while burying his face in his neck.

Stiles was jerked between Ennis’ legs so tightly he could feel Ennis’ hard on against his leg and then the son of a bitch bit down on Stiles’ neck sharply. Stiles swore and jerked his head away but Ennis’ grip on his waist was stronger than it looked.

In his periphery, Stiles could see a flurry of motion as security hustled to help him but he handled it before they could reach his side. Stiles pulled back sharply, throwing Ennis off balance on his stool, elbowed him in the solar plexus and slammed his face against the bartop. Ennis howled and clutched at his nose that started gushing blood immediately, then toppled off the stool into a heap on the floor.

“If you _ever_ step foot in this club again I’ll make sure more than your nose bleeds,” Stiles spat out as Boyd, the bouncer, approached him.

“Are you gunning for a spot on the security team, too?” he asked mildly as he looked down at Ennis whimpering on the floor.

“That asshole _bit_ me!” Stiles told him incredulously. “Who does that?”

Boyd snorted. “Vampires?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles said without heat. His neck throbbed and he winced, touching the skin gingerly. 

“I’ll take care of him, you go take care of that,” Boyd instructed before he bent down to haul Ennis to his feet and escort him out. Stiles watched them leave and as his eyes followed them through the club his gaze passed over Grumpy who was standing at the corner of the bar watching them, too. As if he could feel Stiles’ watching him he turned around and looked at Stiles with an indiscernible expression.

“Hey you okay? I’ll cover out here. Go clean up,” Kira, another employee, called from behind the bar and jerked her head to the employee’s area in the back. 

“Thanks, Kira.” Stiles shot her a grateful smile and walked away quickly, determined not to look back at Grumpy.

That was the name Stiles gave the guy when he started showing up a couple months earlier. He was quiet and not totally a creeper but he hardly ever spoke to anyone, except whoever was tending bar. He liked the hard liquor that Scott said cost more than four times a regular shot; too rich for Stiles’ blood and he swore he saw stuff floating in it so it’s not like he’d want to drink it anyway. 

He’d been working at Wolfsbane, a club-cum-strip club, for about six months, starting as a busboy, then a shitty waiter, and eventually working up to … guest services? He wasn’t exactly sure what his title was but he seemed to keep the owner, Deucalion, happy with his work and ask long as he was getting paid he didn’t care. He served a few drinks but mostly socialized with patrons and occasionally helped the talent get ready to go on stage. 

He worked slower nights and never a weekend when the club was _really_ busy due to staff seniority but it worked out well for him. He was in college and the few shifts a week he worked helped cover all his expenses and then some, and he had plenty of time for studying.

“Goddammit,” he grumbled when he got to the staff bathroom and saw the red mark on his neck. It didn’t look like the skin was broken but he found the First Aid kit and dug out some alcohol wipes to be on the safe side. It didn’t sting when he swiped over the area but he’d likely have a bruise there and he knew everyone was going to think it was a hickey.

“Hey hot stuff. Heard someone got bitey with you.” Stiles looked up at Erica, one of the performers, standing in the bathroom doorway. She caught sight of the mark on his neck and walked up to him quickly, tilting his head up easily.

“Body kicked him out,” Stiles told her, standing awkwardly as she lightly scratched her sharp, manicured nails over the mark.

“From what I hear you kicked his ass,” she murmured back, still examining his neck. When she was satisfied she let him go and gave him a wide smile. “Anyway, you’ve been requested.”

Stiles blinked. “Requested? What does that mean? For what?”

“A dance,” Erica told him. “Is it baby’s first time?”

Stiles felt his cheeks redden and he sputtered as he tried to find the words. “I--what? No, I’m - I’m… a _glorified waiter_. I don’t dance. I _can’t_ dance.”

“As someone who’s been dancing with you I can attest to that,” Erica told him with a scrutinizing look. “But he offered $500.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “What.” He couldn’t even phrase a question but instead a statement of disbelief. “He doesn’t want me, then.”

Erica shrugged. “He does. He specifically asked for the spaz that kicked that guy’s ass.”

“He did not,” Stiles argued.

“No, he didn’t. But he asked for you by name and I’ve set him up in the third room. He already paid and everything,” Erica said as she pulled a fold of bills out of her cleavage. “Club rules, you get half.” Stiles’ heart was racing as Erica shoved $250 into his hands in two hundred dollar bills and a fifty. 

“But… I’ve never done this! Does he expect me to--”

“No.”

“So I won’t have to--”

“No.”

“But what if he--”

“Stiles!” Erica laughed. “It’s just a dance. No one at Wolfsbane fucks in the private rooms, okay? They’re uh, not as private as you’d think.”

“Does that mean there are cameras?” Stiles asked, aghast.

“No! It means… some people here have good hearing, okay? No one will be watching you, and he won’t expect you to do more than dance for him and show a little skin. And if it’s _that_ uncomfortable for you just give me back the money and I’ll tell him it’s a no go.”

Erica held her hand out but Stiles already had the funds earmarked for repairs to his Jeep. He thought he’d have to pray Roscoe could hold on for another month but he could get the engine looked at _and_ new tires with this boost.

He shoved the bills in his pocket. “Room three, you said?”

***

Stiles only saw the private rooms before his shifts with the lights on. Sometimes there were some questionable substances on the floors but there was a dedicated cleaning staff so Stiles never had to deal with any of it. He did his job and didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong and so far it worked out well for him. 

He stood in the hall outside the room with his heart thumping hard in his chest. He had no idea what he was doing. He’d never stripped down in front of anyone, unless you counted lacrosse team hazing in high school when all the newbies had to jump in the school pool naked. That wasn’t so much stripping as getting everything off as quickly as possible to get in the pool and not be seen naked by assholes like Jackson Whittemore. 

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside quickly, squinting in the dim light. He could make out the vague shape of someone sitting on the couch on the wall behind the door. When he closed the door a black light came on and some neon writing on the walls lit up, adding a touch of “style” to the room. 

“Oookay,” Stiles muttered under his breath. He heard something like a chuckle from his customer but it must have been a cough or a noise from outside the room.

Stiles saw a stereo panel on the wall and walked over to select something, feeling incredibly awkward. He could feel his customer’s eyes on him and it made his breath feel choppy as he inhaled slowly.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Uh… any requests?” 

“Whatever works for you,” came the reply.

“Uh, okay,” Stiles replied. He figured out how to flip through the screen and used the chance to run through what, exactly, he was going to do. He was only wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. He had on black shoes that were more function than fashion and--for fuck’s sake, he was wearing Batman boxers, wasn’t he?

“Uh, I’m not… I mean, I don’t usually um. I’m unorthodox?” Stiles stammered as he stared straight ahead at the stereo.

“That’s fine,” the customer replied and he sounded… amused? Was he _laughing_ at Stiles?

“Okay, cool.” Suddenly determined to earn that $250 in his pocket he selected a song he knew and turned to face the couch. 

He couldn’t just rip his clothes off and call it a day, that would take less than thirty seconds. As the music started, loud enough to drown out any sounds from outside the door but low enough to communicate with raised voices, Stiles let his hips sway to the beat. 

He wasn’t a good dancer and knew it but if he stayed in one spot for as long as possible and moved to the music he could usually fake something akin to dancing without injuring himself or others. He slowly moved closer to the couch as the song played and he started untucking his shirt from his waistband. 

As he approached the couch he could make out more of the guy sitting on it. He was broad with dark hair and long legs. And he was staring at Stiles raptly with his lips slightly parted. Stiles could tell because the very tips of his teeth glowed brilliantly in the black light. 

Stiles turned and put his arms over his head, folding them down to gradually pull the back of his shirt up enough to expose the skin of his back, then let it drop back down when the song changed and he had to shuffle in place while he caught the rhythm of the new one.

Stiles tried to imagine this as what he would do if he was doing this legitimately for someone else, or when he tried to drag out stripping down to jerk off. He’d lift his shirt slowly, search for a nipple with the fingers of one hand. Graze it lightly, circle it softly until he shuddered.

He realized he had his eyes closed as he was doing what he imagined. Snapping back to attention Stiles shoved the shirt up so it bunched under his arms and he ran both hands down his chest and abdomen, dipping his fingers under his waistband.

He turned slowly, hips jerking back and forth to the music, and awkwardly ran his hands down his back and down his pants to grab at his own asscheeks. He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath and cast a look under his lashes at his customer who was shifting on the couch. Stiles smirked to himself and bent a little, enough to make his ass pop, and wiggled in a way he’d seen Erica do before in jest but he imagined she did it to make something else jiggle.

When he turned back around he faltered for a second because his customer had his hands down his pants, stroking himself. Stiles’ immediate reaction was to look away and blush but instead it emboldened him.

He crossed his arms and pulled his t-shirt up over his head, sliding it lightly across his nipples a few times before letting it fall to the floor. He didn’t have a belt on, something he now lamented, and his pants rode low on his hips without his shirt being tucked in. He kept moving with the music and shuffled a few steps closer to the couch. 

The customer shoved his pants down enough to pull his cock out and fisted it openly, watching Stiles without hesitation. Stiles felt a thrill run through him and he cupped himself through his pants, even though his nerves kept him from getting more than half-hard. He kept moving and edging closer until he was standing right in front of the couch. He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, but then pulled it back up and dropped to his knees. 

Now he was really in unknown territory. He didn’t know how to give an actual _lap_ dance so maybe this would work. He put his hands on the customer’s knees and pushed them open, then ran his hands up his chest and neck, tipping his head back. 

He heard a gasp that turned into something like a rumble, like a car muffler or even a low growl and his customer leaned forward into his space. Stiles looked back again and noticed how close they were and then he realized it--

“Grumpy!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth and truly did flush then, right down to the tips of his toes if the heat that rushed through his body was any indication.

“Derek, actually,” the customer replied and he was grinning a little with one hand still on his cock. He reached out slowly so Stiles could move away but he didn’t. 

He ran a finger over Stiles’ neck where Ennis bit him and something undecipherable flashed in his eyes, a trick of the black light probably. Stiles suddenly turned his head and lightly snapped at Derek’s finger, catching him playfully.

Derek’s mouth dropped open and his face showed shock for a split second before he grinned widely. He sat back and nodded for Stiles to continue so he did. Stiles rose to his feet and unzipped his pants again, as the song changed again.

Stiles didn’t have much in mind for what he could do to take his pants off sexily so he shook his hips slowly until they slid down on each side and then fell to the floor. Stiles bent over to put his hands on Derek’s legs again while Derek’s hand stripped up and down his cock, and used him as support while he stepped out of his pants and kicked them back, having to shake his right leg to get them off over his shoe. 

Derek didn’t seem to notice or, if he did, care and Stiles could feel his breath coming out in pants against his face. He stood up again and stepped between Derek’s spread legs, running his fingers over his nipples and down to the band of his boxer-briefs, unsure if he could go all the way.

Instead he straddled Derek’s right leg and dropped down to sit on it lightly, boxing him in with a hand on either side of his head on the couch back. He didn’t know if he could or should touch Derek, wasn’t even sure if this was something Erica and the other staff did. 

“I’ve never actually done this before,” Stiles confessed in a whisper as Derek stared up at him. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Derek rumbled back. Stiles wanted to make a joke about, well, something. Anything. It was a defense mechanism he was working on getting over. 

Derek gasped before he could and tightened his grip on his cock. Stiles expected that to be it, game over, as Derek started to come but… he came _a lot_. Stiles watched interestedly for a second before realizing that probably wasn’t in good taste. He tried to get up but Derek reached out with his free hand and gently held him down while his other hand squeezed his dick.

Stiles kept watching, feeling his own cock fill in his boxer-briefs. Derek was making a mess of his shirt that he was still wearing and Stiles could see ropes of come as high up as his collar … and he was still coming. 

He squinted and could swear he could see Derek’s cock pulsing almost continuously. He was entranced by the sight and, without thinking, reached out to wrap a couple fingers around the base of his shaft. 

Derek moaned and his hips jerked up, taking Stiles for a ride, too. But it didn’t stop him from realizing there was something… different about Derek’s cock.

“Dude,” he breathed. “What _is_ that?”

He moved his fingers up and down slowly and Derek groaned as his body kept tightening and jerking and he _kept coming_. Finally Stiles wrapped his whole hand around Derek’s cock and bumped Derek’s hand out of the way to the head. 

“Oh, shit. That’s not--a, fuck! Good idea!” Derek gasped but Stiles’ hand was moving over him and his… bulge?

Stiles wiped his other hand through the mess on Derek’s shirt and used both hands on him, working in tandem with each other for a few seconds until Derek put one of his hands over one of Stiles’ and held it firmly around the bulge. 

“Almost… done,” Derek groaned. He gave a couple more weak spurts, running down the shaft and their intertwined fingers. 

Stiles waited for a good minute while Derek laid his head on the back of the couch, his chest heaving. He was growing more uncomfortable by the second but Derek still had his hand wrapped around Stiles’ on his cock so he couldn’t just stand up. 

“Derek?” Stiles said softly. “What’s this?”

He squeezed carefully but Derek sat up with a strained growl as his hips jerked and even _more_ come leaked out. 

What was more concerning, however, was Derek’s bright blue eyes, shining brightly in the dim room that were _definitely_ not from the black light. Stiles froze, his own eyes widening. 

“We’re not vampires, Stiles,” Derek said quietly as his eyes faded. “Werewolves. We’re werewolves.”

Well, at least Stiles wasn’t nervous about his first private dance anymore.


End file.
